“Ready to go inside?” I ask instead. “I guarantee it’ll be warmer and drier.”
She nods against my chest, and together we dash through the rain to the house. Georgie immediately moves toward the front room and the couch, but I grab her hand to stop her.
“I’m not letting you sleep on that monstrosity,” I say when she turns a questioning look toward me.
Biting her lip, she looks toward my bedroom and sends a jolt of electricity through me. “I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”
“I know.”
Color rises up her face, matching the heat building inside me. “King…”
I know exactly where her thoughts are going—mine are already there—but I shake my head. She nearly drowned today, and I’m still grappling with the ramifications of my ever-growing feelings for her. Neither of us is ready for something we can’t take back. Right now, our marriage is only temporary. Until that changes…
“We’re both adults,” I tell her. “We can share a bed without it getting…” Weird is probably the wrong word, and heated is too close to the truth.
A smile ticks up Georgie’s lips. “Intimate?” she suggests.
I growl. “That is so much worse than what I came up with.”
She takes a step closer, then another, and I can’t help but track her movement with the concentration of a stalking lion. “You should probably know that I have a tendency to sleepwalk.”
I force my gaze to remain fixed on her face, though it isn’t helping that she’s in those short shorts again. Why couldn’t she have worn one of those oversized nightgowns that old ladies wear? Then again, Georgie would probably be just as alluring no matter what she wears.
I clear my throat, once again forcing my traitorous eyes up to her face. “I didn’t know that about you.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve never slept with me before.”
I take a step back to keep a certain level of space between us. “Are you likely to sleepwalk tonight?” I ask. Maybe bunking on the couch will be a better idea than sharing the bed with her, at least until we can have a thorough conversation about this marriage of ours and where it’s going. I don’t want to discover the kinds of things she might do in semi-consciousness. Not with the way she’s looking at me right now.
Those expressive eyes of hers are setting a fire in my belly that’s not going to be extinguished anytime soon.
Georgie shrugs, stepping forward until my back hits the wall, and then she grins. I desperately want her to touch me, but she doesn’t. I feel her eyes, though. They trace my face and work their way down. “It’s impossible to know if I’ll sleepwalk or not. The last time, I ended up outside and was nearly eaten by a llama.” A shiver runs through her, and I don’t think it’s because of Prince Harry.
Sighing, I pull her into my arms again and close my eyes as I memorize how it feels to hold her. It could be the only time I get the chance; I can’t let myself hope too fully that we can make this work. We tried once, and she ran away.
The difference this time is I fully plan to follow her if she does that again. No cowardice this time around.
“We’ll have to risk it,” I tell her. “I need to know you’re safe and warm tonight.” Every night. For the rest of our lives. Stay.
Once I get her settled in my bed with all the blankets she could possibly need, I stretch out beside her and let my breath out in a steady stream, forcing myself to relax. I’m probably not going to get any sleep tonight, knowing she’s there breathing next to me, but I don’t care. As long as she’s safe.
“Royal?”
I smile at the sound of my name. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for rescuing me today.”
A replay of her wipeout flashes through my mind again, and I search for her fingers so I can make sure she’s really here. Really safe. Her hand is cool against mine, and I hold it tight, trying to warm her fingers. “I’m sorry I had to. I shouldn’t have let you—”
“I’m glad I did. I’ve always wondered what it’s like out on the water with you. You…” She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “You were born for the ocean. You looked so happy out there.”
“I was happy,” I admit. “Up until I thought you might drown.”
“How about we agree that I’m better on dry ground?”
“Happily.” Especially if she stays within sight. It’s too dark to see her now, but I look at her anyway, trying to imagine the way her curls spill onto the pillow. I think she usually pulls her hair up at night, but tonight she left it down. Her curls were damp and frizzy from the rain, but she is beautiful. I don’t have to see her to know that.
As a knot forms in my stomach, I change the topic of conversation to one that is far more dangerous than Georgie’s understandable fear of the ocean. “How long do you think it will take to do the renovations on the bakery?”
She shifts, and I’m pretty sure she rolls over to face me. As long as she keeps holding my hand, I’ll be happy. “It depends on how many of them I have Beck do.”
“All of them.” I probably say that too quickly, but I mean it. “You should make the bakery yours, Georgie.”
I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure she inches closer. “But what about you? What about Bill’s legacy? I don’t want to take him from you by changing everything you have left of him.”
Lifting her hand up between us, I press my lips to her fingers. One by one. “Uncle Bill’s legacy is you, Georgie. He always wanted you to have the bakery, and he wouldn’t have expected you to be exactly like him. I know you’ll honor him, no matter how you change things.”
Georgie’s other hand finds my cheek, scraping against the scruff and leaving a trail of warmth behind. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed her. The last two months have been the loneliest of my life, but with Georgie next to me, I don’t feel like I’ll ever be on my own again. I can’t help but cling to that hope as tightly as I cling to her hand.
“I’m pretty sure his legacy is you, Royal,” she says into the darkness. “He was so proud of you.”
She can’t know that, but her words settle warm and solid inside me anyway.
“I miss him,” I admit. It’s the first time I’ve said those words out loud, and they come out of me raw and rough. “It shouldn’t have been harder to lose him than it was my parents, but it feels so much worse.” And what kind of son does that make me, missing him more than I miss my own father?
“Hey.” Georgie scoots closer, now pressing her whole palm to my cheek. “You were only eight when your dad died. And I know you were sad when you lost your mom. Some of your emails were heartbreaking, and I wanted so badly to be here with you.”
Maybe that’s the difference. When my mom died, I had Georgie to get me through it.
